by Terri Reid
“I have to give you credit,” Bradley said. “I wouldn’t have been able to work with her for so many years, and yet, you did it year after year, as a volunteer director.”
Carl paused and looked up. “Yeah, I guess I’m just devoted to the theater,” he said stiffly, his hands tightening on the chair once again.
“Well, good for you,” he said. “I just have a couple more questions for you. As I understand it, all of you, the entire cast, left Faye on the stage and went upstairs. Then what happened?”
Shrugging, Carl seemed to relax again. “We, uh, we came downstairs and saw the backstage lights were off. I figured Faye turned them off in disgust, so we all just left,” he said. “I was the last one out, so I locked up.”
“Is there anyway someone could have entered the theater once all of you were upstairs?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Carl said, “If they knew the security code. We were all talking upstairs, so we wouldn’t have heard the door opening.”
“Who has access to the backstage lights?”
“Anyone can turn them off from either backstage or the lighting booth, they both have a full set of switches,” he said.
“None of you heard Faye calling for help?”
“Unless you have the speakers on, it’s nearly impossible to hear the person on stage,” he explained.
“Thanks for your time, Carl,” Bradley said, standing up and offering Carl his hand once again. “Do you mind if I call you again, if I have more theater questions?”
Carl shook Bradley’s hand. “No, no problem.”
Bradley walked him to the door, and as he opened it, saw Rodney McMullen and a man, Bradley assumed must be the lawyer, were waiting on the other side.
Carl stopped and stared. “Rodney?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”
“Getting to the bottom of my aunt’s murder,” he spat. “What did you have to do with it, White?”
“You know as well as I do that I would have nothing to gain by Faye’s death,” he said, showing more backbone in that moment than in all of the time in Bradley’s office, “So just back off.”
“Listen, you bastard,” Rodney began.
“Rodney,” his lawyer interrupted tersely, gazing pointedly at Bradley. “I suggest you discontinue this conversation immediately.”
Rodney stepped back like a whipped puppy and turned to his lawyer, “Of course, Benjamin, how crass of me to be drawn into a public altercation.”
“Yeah, wouldn’t want you to be crass,” Carl said sarcastically.
Bradley decided he wasn’t going to get any more information from the meeting and stepped forward. “Thanks for your time, Carl,” he said. “Rodney and...”
“Benjamin Middlebury, Esquire,” the lawyer supplied.
“Mr. Middlebury,” Bradley nodded. “Please come into my office.”
Chapter Nine
Mary rolled over and looked at the clock radio on her night stand. It was 12:45. The crash that had awakened her repeated. She groaned audibly and slid out of bed. Grabbing her robe, she angrily tied the belt. “What, you can’t do this at a decent hour?” she muttered as she marched toward the stairs. “Even if you’re dead, there are such things as manners.”
She stormed down the stairs and nearly had her head taken off by a flying saucepan, winging its way across her kitchen to clatter in her dining room.
“What the...?” she asked, turning to where the object must have originated.
Faye McMullen stood in the middle of the kitchen, her hands filled with objects from Mary’s cabinets. Breakable things.
“Oh, no,” Mary cried, “You can’t just come in here and tear up my house.”
A lovely ceramic mug sailed past her shoulder. “I’m dead!” Faye screamed. “I’m freaking dead and there is no upside to it!”
Mary dashed forward and rescued her favorite teapot from Faye’s grip. “You were expecting an upside?”
Faye exhaled heavily and nodded. “Yes,” she said. “At least a huge memorial service at the theater with all of my friends in attendance.”
Mary walked around the kitchen, closing the cabinet doors and hiding the other breakables. “Faye, I don’t mean to be so blunt, but you didn’t have any friends.”
Affronted, Faye looked around the room for another object to hurl. Mary stood in front of her, blocking the way to her dishes. “I had friends,” she screamed, trying to dodge around Mary. “I had lots of friends.”
Mary was glad Faye hadn’t realized she could walk right through her. “No, you had admirers and you had people who were afraid of you,” she said. “But, Faye, really, in order to have friends, you have to be a friend. Were you ever a friend?”
Faye placed her hands on her hips and scowled at Mary. “Of course I was a friend,” she snapped. “I was a great friend. I was an amazing friend. I…”
She paused and looked around. “I can be honest with you, can’t I?”
“Well, you’re dead. I mean, who would I tell?”
Stopping, she considered Mary’s comment. “That’s true. I can be totally honest with you because, really, who’d believe you?” she agreed eagerly. “And most of the people I know think you’re a couple donuts short of a dozen anyway.”
“Thanks, Faye,” Mary replied, “You were saying?”
“Oh, right. I mean really, how could I be friends with most of, well, let’s be honest, any of the people who live in Freeport?” she said, rolling her eyes. “I mean, who lives in Freeport?”
Mary shrugged. “Well, you did.”
Slightly abashed, Faye paused. “Well, only because the family estate was here,” she explained. “Deep down inside I was made for the East Coast.”
Mary sat down on a stool near the kitchen counter. “Okay, we know that you didn’t have friends, because no one lived up to your standards,” she said. “Do you know how many enemies you had?”
“Women like me always have enemies,” she purred.
“Women like you?”
“Wealthy, talented, intelligent, attractive…”
“Humble,” Mary muttered.
“Pardon moi?”
“Was anyone, besides yourself of course, in love with you?”
“You can be a bitch when you want to be,” Faye said, sliding on to another stool. “I like that in a person.”
Mary couldn’t help herself, she grinned. “Somehow I thought you might. Seriously, were there any relationships that had gone sour? Any unrequited love?”
Shaking her head, Faye paused and looked at Mary. “Why are you asking me all of these questions? All I want is a memorial tribute.”
“Well, most people are uncomfortable coming to a tribute when there’s still a murderer on the loose,” she replied. “We need to solve your murder first, and then, once the bad guy is caught, people will want to celebrate.”
Smiling brightly, Faye reasoned, “So, they do want to have a tribute, they’re just frightened.”
Mary wondered if anyone could really be as egotistical as Faye seemed to be.
Faye’s smile faded. “Those disgusting wimps. If they truly adored me, they would risk their lives to show the world how important I was to this entire community.”
Yes. Yes, someone could be that egotistical, Mary thought.
“Perhaps the big theater at the Masonic Temple was booked, and they’re waiting for a big enough venue,” Mary said.
Faye brightened. “Why of course, you’re right,” she trilled. “How silly of me. Of course, a bigger venue. Of course.”
She started to fade away.
“Wait!” Mary called, jumping forward. “We still need to find the murderer, Faye. The public won’t be satisfied until justice is done.”
She became more solid. “Well, I can’t be bothered with that right now.”
“Just give me a name,” Mary pleaded. “Someone I can start with. Someone who really hated you.”
She thought for a moment and then her eyes widened. “Of course, why didn’t I
think of it before this? Dan Stevens. I’m sure he had something to do with it. He’s always hated me. You find Dan Stevens and you’ll find my killer.”
Faye disappeared. Mary looked around her kitchen. Pots and pans were strewn across the room. About a dozen dishes that used to be cups and saucers were now only broken shards scattered across the floor.
“I don’t think my homeowner’s insurance will cover this,” she sighed, grabbing a broom and dustpan. “I wonder if they have a rider for paranormal activity.”
She walked over to the corner of the kitchen and started sweeping the broken pieces away from the wall. It’s the middle of the night and I’m sweeping up my best china because an egotistical ghost is upset she’s dead, she thought. What has happened to my life?
Leaning on the broom, she could feel the tears burning in her eyes. She was supposed to help spirits with unfinished business, but was she supposed to let them wreck her whole life? Was she supposed to sit back and let love pass her by because a ghost has decided to disappear?
“No! Dammit! No! I don’t have to let them ruin my life,” she announced aloud. “I don’t have to lay down and let them turn me into a doormat.”
With renewed determination, she swiftly swept the shards into a pile next to the kitchen table and bent over to move them into the dustpan.
“My, aren’t we Suzie Homemaker, and at one o’clock in the morning, very impressive,” Mike teased.
Mary jumped up and nearly hit her head on the edge of the table. “You know what,” she snapped. “I don’t have to put up with smart-mouthed ghosts or egotistical specters who decide to pop into my house at all hours of the day or night.”
Mike lifted his hands in front of his body and stepped back. “Whoa there Mary,” he said. “I’m just an innocent by-stander. I really shouldn’t be getting both barrels full.”
Mary swept the pieces up. “Well, I’m a little tired of being manipulated by ghosts. I’m tired of getting up in the middle of the night. I’m tired of having people think I’m a couple donuts short of a dozen…”
Mike floated closer. “So, you’re missing him, aren’t you?”
Mary stopped sweeping, looked up at Mike and the tears began to flow. She nodded, unable to speak.
“Oh, honey,” he said. “I’m so sorry you’re sad. But, it’s your own fault.”
The tears were quickly replaced by anger. “What?”
“We ghosts are pushy, self-centered and, quite frankly, don’t really care what you want,” he said. “And you let us walk all over you.”
“I do not!” she countered.
“Sure you do. We moan and you get up in the middle of the night. We throw a fit and you calm us down. We decide not to show up and you wait for us. You’re letting us drive, Mary. You’ve got to take charge.”
She shook her head. “How do I take charge?”
“We’re talking Jeannine here, right?”
Mary nodded. “Yeah, for the most part.”
He smiled at her. “Because, even though the rest of us annoy you a little, we’re not causing your heart to break, right?”
She sniffed and wiped the tears off her face. “Yes, you’re just slightly annoying.”
He laughed and she smiled. “So, don’t let her drive,” he said.
“What?”
“Go out and find her,” he said. “Don’t wait for her to come to you. Go to her.”
“But where should I look?”
“You’re the Private Investigator, remember?” he said. “Don’t ask me, I was a fireman, I always had people telling me where to go.”
She really liked the idea. Don’t be the victim. Be a take-charge P.I. That’s what she did best.
“I like this,” she said. “I really like this.”
“So, I’m not so annoying?” he asked.
She smiled brightly at him. “Not only are you not annoying, you are wonderful.”
He winked at her and started fading away. “Now, go get some sleep, so you can go out and get ‘em in the morning.”
“Thanks, Mike,” she said, as he disappeared.
A few minutes later the kitchen was tidied up and everything was in its right place. Her hands on her hips, she viewed the room with satisfaction. “I’m in the driver’s seat now!”
Chapter Ten
Bradley glanced at the clock before he sat down with Rodney and Benjamin and silently groaned; it was one o’clock in the morning. He sat down and looked across at the two gentlemen; he had to admit the lawyer looked pretty well put together for someone who had been pulled out of bed in the middle of the night.
“Thank you for coming in,” he said cordially.
“I’ve instructed my client not to say anything until we know what charges are pending against him,” Benjamin said.
Bradley sat back in his chair again and said nothing, he simply studied the lawyer. Greying temples, bushy eyebrows and a set of jowls that made him look like an angry bulldog stared back across the desk at him.
The moment stretched to a minute and Bradley could see Rodney twitch in his chair. The lawyer merely stared back. Bradley leaned forward on his chair, placed his elbows on his desk and templed his hands. “Why would you assume there are charges pending against Mr. McMullen?” he finally asked. “Your client came into the station of his own accord and burst into my office demanding my time.”
Benjamin turned to Rodney who tried to melt into his chair. “Is this true, Rodney?”
Rodney bobbed his head up and down. “I thought, you know, I should come down because,” his voice lowered slightly. “I’m in charge now.”
“You told me that the Chief wanted to question you about the murder of your aunt,” he said sternly.
“Once he insisted on coming in and telling me that he was the heir, I felt it would be judicious on my part to talk to him about his whereabouts during the past few days,” Bradley explained, “Especially since he had the most to gain by her death.”
Benjamin closed his eyes for a moment. He stood and put his arm around his client. “Rodney, let’s you and I have a private conversation.”
He pulled him away from Bradley’s desk to the furthest corner of the room. “Rodney, how long have I been your attorney?”
Shrugging, Rodney looked upwards for a moment. “I don’t know,” he said. “Since I was a teen-ager and Auntie Faye brought me to see you.”
“That’s right,” he said. “And have I ever been wrong when I guided you?”
“No. No, you’ve always been right, Benjamin,” he said.
“So, Rodney, right now I’m asking you to let me handle this, okay?”
Rodney leaned closer to his attorney, nodding towards Bradley, he whispered, “But I told him I was in charge.”
“Yes, you can be in charge when I tell you, okay?”
Confused, Rodney shook his head. “But, how can I be in charge if you’re telling me what to do?”
“Because, Rodney, I am your advisor and advisors always help people who are in charge,” he said.
“Okay, that seems to make sense,” he agreed.
“Now, Rodney, I want you to be very truthful with me,” Benjamin said, turning his client so he was facing him. “Did you kill your aunt?”
Rodney’s eyes opened wide and he shook his head. “No, no I didn’t kill Auntie Faye,” he said.
Benjamin patted him on the shoulder. “Good boy, now you keep quiet and I’ll settle this up,” he said.
He left Rodney in the corner and walked over to Bradley. He smiled at him, “I really appreciate your hard work, Chief,” he said, “And your thoroughness. But we both know that my client does not have the fortitude to commit murder.”
Bradley stood up and smiled back at him. “I’ve learned that murderers can surprise you every time,” he said. “And, as a representative of the law, you do understand I have to follow up on every possible angle.”
“Of course, of course,” he agreed smoothly, “but it’s late and I’m sure you’re tired and
would like to get home.”
Bradley nodded. “No, really, I’m used to late nights. And I’d rather get this done tonight and continue my investigation tomorrow.”
The smile disappeared. “Fine,” he said. “But you will find yourself in a bad position if you decide to pick a fight with me, Chief.”
Bradley smiled down at him. “Funny, it almost sounded like you were threatening a law enforcement official,” he said. “You do realize you could be thrown into jail for that, right?”
“I’m sure you misunderstood me,” Benjamin growled.
“I’m sure,” Bradley grinned. “Now, I’d really like to speak with your client.”
“Rodney come over here,” Benjamin requested. “You need to answer some questions.”
Rodney swaggered over. “I don’t have to tell you anything,” he boasted, “Because I’m in charge now.”
Bradley sighed and looked at the clock. It was nearly two o’clock in the morning and, quite frankly, he was getting tired of the puffed-up spoiled brat. “You’re right,” he said, pressing an intercom button.
“Yes, Chief?” Dorothy’s voice came over the speaker.
“Is Ashley Deutsch still around?” he asked.
“Yes, she’s at her desk, shall I send her in?”
“That would be nice, thanks.”
Rodney looked at the intercom and then at Bradley. “What are you doing?” he asked. “What’s going on?”
Ashley Deutsch, a bright female officer, came into the room. “You needed me, Chief?”
“Yes, Ashley,” Bradley said. “This is Rodney McMullen. He is a suspect in the murder of his aunt, but he has decided that he doesn’t need to answer any questions. Rodney, this is Officer Deutsch. She’s one of my top officers and she knows the law really well.”
Ashley walked over to Rodney, took his arm in her hand and clapped handcuffs over his wrist. She pulled his arm behind his back and handcuffed the other wrist. “Rodney McMullen, You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be held against you in the court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?”